Anyone Can Cook
by Devan Alexander
Summary: "You question me again Rookie and you'll drop and give me twenty," Tripp informed her, then he winked at her. May's expression had been priceless but she'd gone to the freezer to get the vegetables.


Anyone Can Cook

Phil woke abruptly. Something was wrong… he didn't know what but he could feel it in his gut. Something was very wrong. He rose quickly and pulled on his dress pants, tee shirt, socks and shoes. He slipped from his bedroom door into his office door, grabbed his tablet and woke it, activating his screens with the wave of his hand. The doors to his base were secure and quiet, his guards alert; there was no activity at the arsenal. His view moved to his headquarters; there was activity but nothing outside the norm. Still his senses were on high alert. He did a visual perimeter sweep, looked in the gym and the practice areas, and viewed the lounge… nothing. He sighed and knew instantly it was Melinda. He hadn't sensed Melinda like this in a long time… a very long time. Okay, so she wasn't in the gym… he tried the cockpit of the bus… the quinjet… her office… the kitchen… wait, the kitchen? He zoomed in on the kitchen to find that Melinda was sitting alone in the kitchen. Her being hungry was not cause for… she dried her eyes with her sleeve. With a wave of his hand the surveillance went dark, he put his tablet back on his desk and started for the kitchen. His pace was as brisk as he could make it without making noise. If he made noise she would disappear, and he didn't want that. He had to admit he was surprised to find she was still sitting where he'd originally spotted her.

"Hi," he offered quietly.

He was surprised when she startled.

"Want some company?" he asked, curious.

She didn't reply so he settled in beside her. He couldn't help but wonder where she was. Then he noticed the plate of eggs in front of her and realized that it was a barely touched, picture-perfect vegetable omelet, her favorite. Usually he made them for her and he wondered who made this one.

"That's a mighty fine looking omelet you have there," he told her with a grin.

She pushed the plate toward him.

"No May, that's yours. I can go make…"

She pushed the plate at him again. He checked her for fever. At least she rolled her eyes at him for that.

"You sure about this?" he asked again. "If it tastes half as good as it looks it would be better than mine."

She looked at it, then looked away. Well, it was her loss, and he could always make her another. He cut a piece of the omelet and put it in his mouth… oh… this was good. He ate another bite.

Melinda watched him enjoy the omelet from the corner of her eye and her mind raced back in time.

"Anyone can cook, girl, Tripp promised her.

She huffed a sigh and looked away.

"It's all in how you approach it," he promised her with a twinkle in his eye. "You want to learn? I'll teach you."

"Andrew couldn't."

Tripp's smile was irresistible.

"He didn't understand the right approach for you. So, are you willing to give it a try?"

She'd conceded.

"First things' first," he grinned. "What are you hungry for?"

She half shook her head and shrugged.

"What do you like to eat?"

"I use food as fuel for my body," she reminded him.

"Well then, we could try to make that Gumbo…"

May glared at him. That gumbo had been so spice only he, she and Coulson would eat it and it burned as badly coming out as it had going in.

"No."

That damn twinkle was back in his eye.

"Then, Rookie, you'd better choose something you like."

Grasping at straws she said the first thing that came into her head.

"Vegetable omelet."

"Omelet, eh," he began thoughtfully. "Well Rookie, this is your first mission. An omelet will take a cooking specialist… we need a mission you can succeed at."

She rolled her eyes at him. He was having far too much fun at her expense.

"We're going to make vegetable scrambled eggs," he continued. "The taste will be close to the same; texture too. The first step is to plan our mission. First question, what takes longer to cook, the eggs or the vegetables?"

May's thoughts went to Coulson, who always started with the vegetables first.

"Vegetables."

Tripp nodded with a grin.

"Good. So Rookie, what'll it be?"

"Broccoli, cauliflower and mushrooms," she decided.

"Because you're new at this we're going to help you succeed. We'll use the frozen ones."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You question me again Rookie and you'll drop and give me twenty," he informed her, then he winked at her.

May's expression had been priceless but she'd gone to the freezer to get the vegetables. She was about to pour some in a pan like Coulson did when he stopped her.

"We need to plan this mission," he reminded her. "Sit."

She looked at the bag of frozen vegetables in her hand and looked at him curiously.

"Put them by the stove, they'll be fine."

She crossed to the table and sat.

"We need to gather the required materials first," he reminded her. "Like planning a mission. Your resources are?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you want to learn?" he asked simply, seriously.

She sighed.

"Vegetables and eggs."

"Not if you want them to have some flavor. For that you'll need some seasoning… onion powder, garlic…"

"Paprika," she remembered from watching Coulson.

He watched her as she sat there and he knew she'd already failed because in her own mind this wasn't something she'd decided she could do. He needed to motivate her. Well, she was going to cook, so…

"Understand that you are making a meal for two, you and I, and we don't waste food so we have to eat it no matter the outcome, right?"

"You're brave," she sighed quietly, not letting the horror she felt find its way into her eyes.

He chose to let it go and buried the grin.

"Materials list, nonperishable," he ordered, knowing the tone would get her full attention.

She thought for a moment, then responded with crisp military precision.

"Small bowl, whisk, skillet, turner, 2 plates, 2 forks and 2 glasses."

"Perishable."

"Five eggs, vegetable mix… a cup?" she asked, he nodded. "Onion powder, garlic powder, paprika and juice."

She watched him, waiting.

"Missed a couple."

May thought back to when she would watch Coulson.

"Olive oil?"

"And?" he persisted.

What else did Coulson use? She asked herself over and over finally she shook her head.

"2 slices of bread for toasting, butter for the toast and cheese for the top of the eggs." He instructed.

She nodded.

"Sir, permission to add cheese only to your plate."

She could play this game too. She caught his smile trying to sneak out.

"Agent May, are you telling me that you don't like cheese?"

"No sir, I enjoy cheese in certain places, but not with eggs."

"Understood. Excellent job Rookie. Procure your materials."

May wandered the kitchen under his careful watch. She tried to remember where Coulson found each ingredient. She found the spices in the cupboard and placed the ones she wanted on the counter by the vegetables, then the olive oil, a bowl, the whisk that Coulson used and not the fork that Andrew preferred, after that she dug for Coulson's favorite turner. She found the plates, forks and glasses and set them on the table in two place settings. She pulled the bread from the bread box and set two slices in the toaster but didn't start it yet, then she put the bread back. She was surprised to find that his teasing and his method didn't bother her, and she was a bit impressed that he was brave enough to try. She went to the refrigerator and gathered five eggs in her bowl, cheese and butter. The butter she left by the toaster, then went to grab a butter knife. The cheese she left by what she'd determined was his place.

"Cooking, Rookie, requires focus, as much focus as any other mission. It takes astute observation and attention to detail. Let's crack those eggs."

May grabbed a hand towel like Coulson did and set the eggs on it so they didn't roll away.

"Excellent!" Tripp praised.

She knew she should be rolling her eyes at him, but found she didn't feel the need; he was truly proud of her. She cracked the eggs without getting any shell into the bowl, and cleaned up her mess. She whisked the eggs together.

"A little bit of milk would help," Tripp told her thoughtfully.

She got the milk, added a little and put it away. The eggs combined smoothly.

"Drizzle about a teaspoon of olive oil into the pan and turn the burner on to medium heat."

"Seven?" she asked, looking at the dial.

"Six," he corrected.

The stove was on, the pan was heating, and May pushed back the sudden rush of fear that appeared suddenly.

"Pay attention Rookie," Tripp ordered suddenly. Her focus snapped to him. "Put a drop of water in the pan, when it sizzles nicely your pan is ready."

May got her fingers wet and dripped a drop of water in the pan, it sizzled.

"Now we can start with the vegetables."

May carefully poured some vegetables into the pan, then she looked to him for confirmation. He nodded. She sealed the bag and put it in the freezer, then went back to the stove to move them about.

"Good… good." Tripp promised her. "As they soften we can make them a little smaller, and you can start to season very lightly."

He watched her carefully as she added the seasoning and then went back to moving the vegetables around. As they started to thaw he showed her how to break them up. He stayed with her, keeping her focused… keeping her engaged. Soon they were adding the eggs and starting the toast…

"You did taste this, right?" Phil's question interrupted her train of thought. She nodded slowly. He cut a small piece with a tomato in it and held it out for her. "Have another bite," he insisted.

She let him feed her a bite or two, then drifted back into her memory.

Tripp's hand folded around hers on the turner as he gently showed her the motion she needed to keep the eggs from burning, then he stood back and watched her.

"Toast," he ordered.

May crossed to the toaster, dropped the lever and returned to the eggs.

"Watch the left side."

She continued to focus on the food in the pan as she moved it about.

"Take it off the heat, turn the burner off… be careful where you set the turner."

She moved it away from the spot she'd intended to set it. The toast popped. She moved to butter it.

"Plate." He ordered.

She put a cut piece of toast on each plate, gathered the pan of egg and the turner and served his eggs first, then hers, and added the rest to his plate. She returned the pan back to the stove… off the heat without his reminder and returned to sprinkle cheese on his eggs. One eyebrow went up, asking if that was enough and he nodded. They settled in to eat; she was surprised at her success.

Phil watched her as he finished the omelet, wondering where she had gone. This wasn't the sort of thing that May did and he wished he could see inside her memories to see where she was. At the same time he was a little depressed. He wouldn't find her sitting alone in the kitchen looking at the stove. He'd found her there so often over the years, hungry, and not for a salad. He'd make all of her favorites, including two of the recipes he'd gotten from her mother… complete with lessons on technique. She wouldn't need him anymore…

May's second lesson had happened when she and Tripp were the only two on the plane.

"Rookie, I'm hungry. Repeat what we made on our last lesson."

He sat in the galley with her but made no comment. She gathered everything, double checked she had what she needed and went to work.

"Focus," he told her when he caught her mind wandering.

That meal had turned out well too. But her first one totally on her own… epic fail. Still, they'd both eaten it and neither had gotten sick. Her next vegetable scrambled eggs turned out well, as did the next. Then he'd started her on omelets. He showed her how to make the first one, she tried the second set on her own and ended with very brown scrambled eggs. His hands were over hers to help her flip the third… set of scrambled eggs. She'd tried and tried but simply couldn't get the hang of making an omelet. In the kitchen he'd been her superior officer, she'd learned to appreciate him so much. He'd been so patient… so kind… such a good friend…

Then Tripp died.

He watched as her mood shifted and realized that maybe he was wrong. Someone must have made this for her…

"May, really, who made this omelet" Phil asked her again.

She's startled, then didn't look at him, she couldn't look at him. "I did," she admitted very softly.

"Melinda…"

"I know, but I think Tripp was helping me."

He was quiet and she finally looked up at him to find him watching her curiously.

"He was teaching me to cook. I… stopped trying after he died, but today…" she shrugged.

"Make another. Show me."

May pulled herself from her seat. Coulson watched as she cleaned and cut up the fresh vegetables; broccoli, tomato, onion; cracked and whisked the eggs with a little less milk than he typically would have used. She expertly sautéed the vegetables, seasoning them with a little garlic and smoked paprika, then setting them aside to prep her pan and add the eggs. He watched as she expertly cooked the egg, lifting the edges so the uncooked egg from the middle flowed underneath. When the middle was just about done she added the vegetable mix and flipped it closed. She let it rest away from the heat to finish, then moved it to a plate for him. He took a bite, it was divine.

"Perfect," he promised her.

She nearly smiled as she settled in beside him. He pushed the plate in front of her.

"This one's yours," he grinned.

"Can't waste food," she heard Phil and Tripp say together; one real, the other from her memory.

Her heart stopped for a moment, remembering, but then let her fork cut into the omelet. She took a bite. The first one she was sure she imagined Tripp's hands guiding hers, but this one… this one was hers…

"You done good, girl."

Melinda looked up sharply at Coulson.

"What did you say?" she asked a little more sharply than she intended.

"I asked if it were as good as the first one," he replied as he watched her curiously.

She shook herself before responding.

"I… heard something else," she admitted.

"Melinda?"

She shook her head and took another bite of her omelet.

"May I?" he asked, fork poised over her omelet.

She nodded and he cut himself a piece taking one more bite of perfection.

"He would have been proud," Phil promised her.

The smallest hint of a smile appeared on her face, nearly hidden from him and he realized that just because she could make a divine omelet didn't mean that she didn't need him anymore… that maybe, just maybe this could bring them closer.


End file.
